Lucky Three
by Sunstreaker
Summary: After receiving injuries during a battle, the trio decide to remain close together as they heal. Hot Rod/Arcee/Springer. One-shot. A bit of fluff. I own nothing but the writing. Might turn into a collection of one-shots.


"C'mon, Arcee! We gotta make it back to the ship!" His voice was nearly strained as a shot went off right by his side, the bullet ricocheting off a metal wall that had once held up a building. He easily dispatched the one who had fired, a well placed blast taking out the Decepticon through it's chest. He took only a moment to see if the Con would stay down, assured by the smoking ring around the melted metal that he'd hit the spark. His optics quickly sought whom he was looking for, the scuffed white and pink armor of his companion unmistakable amidst the dull greys and blazing fires that had become an unfortunately common sight to them.

They just kept coming in waves! There was no end to these blasted drones and minor soldiers that had hastily thrown themselves onto the battlefield as only foolish, clueless younglings could do. It pained him, having to take down practically children. They were far too young to be in this war, however inevitable it was that they joined in. He supposed it wouldn't have mattered; the Decepticon ranks wouldn't really care to keep the children as children should be kept. They would've been started young. How to fight. How to kill. It would've happened sooner or later. He was just enraged that it happened _this_ soon. Although his morals screamed at him how wrong this was, his loyalty to his team and friends wouldn't allow him to fail them. There was no way in the Pits he would let them get hurt any worse than they already were.

So occupied he was with the ones at his front, he hardly paid mind to the figure crawling along the ground at his back. It wasn't until a cracking shot, a pained and surprised shout, the sound of something crashing down and a shrill cry of utter fear and concern that he managed to whip his impressive bulk around.

He saw Arcee throwing herself down by the injured mech's side, her dainty servos dropping her rifle and flitting over the mech's silver face. His optics widened when he noticed the blaring and obnoxious paint of the mech she was knelt by. No one could miss the hot red, bright yellow and spiced orange armor. His gaze flicked around on instinct, almost instantly snapping in the direction of where he had caught the slightest movement. The movement belonged to the Con he had taken down earlier; or _thought_ he had. Cursing rather vehemently at his mistake of not making absolutely _certain_ the Decepticon was offline.

Then he noticed the still smoking barrel of the Con's weapon, and that the weapon was now pointing itself on Arcee. A sudden red haze shrouded his gaze, unbridled rage and fear tinting his vision. How _dare_ they hurt Hot Rod? How _dare_ they try to hurt her, too?

"Hot Rod, we have to hurry. Springer can hold them back for only so long. He's already getting swamped over there." Arcee's tone was low and urgent, even as she held his arm around her shoulders. Her other servo splayed over his chest plate, not even attempting to touch his back where he was hit. She knew he must've been in agony; the spoiler on his back was as sensitive as Springer's rotor blades. He was now leaning into her side as much as he could, the pain in those blue optics softening as they gazed into her fear filled ones. Though his voice was strained, he still managed a cheeky smile for her, "Don't worry, 'Cee. We got this."

A small smile worked it's way over her lips. Just as she was about to reply to his ego, her intakes hitched sharply before a scream ripped it's way from her throat. Hot Rod's optics widened as his arms automatically wound themselves around her, catching her as the femme braced herself against him. It took him hardly a moment to see the bullet wound that had torn itself through her ankle, severing the cables there and exiting from her thigh. A growl built in his chassis, his denta bared in utter anger. He whipped his helm around to find the culprit, uncaring of the sharp burn from his back that pricked at the motion. He caught sight of Springer; the large green mech standing over the slightly melted frame of a Decepticon whose gun tip was swirling with smoke. His green comrade's face plates were reflecting of horror and pain as he was turned in their direction. For a brief moment, Hot Rod wondered _why_. Then he noticed the angle of the weapon.

Springer was frozen in shock. Frozen in complete horror, something he wasn't really used to feeling. When it came to the two closest to him, however, he felt it more than he appreciated. That bastard had been meaning to shoot their Arcee, had a clear and perfect shot right over her chest plates. Her spark would've been blow apart by the force of that bullet. He wouldn't have been fast enough to stop it; stop the mech from pulling the trigger. With all his strength, fueled by fear and rage, he'd kicked the mech's hand as hard as he could. Unfortunately, whether from reflex, or from a last minute rebellion, the trigger had been pulled. It was enough, however, as the shot hadn't hit her dead on like planned. But Springer felt horrible. She was disabled now; alive but in agony. Her circuits were injured in her ankle, unable to function until they were repaired. But her sensors were blaring.

"Cee! Arcee! C'mon, say something! Look at me, anything!" She was vaguely aware of the hands gripping her shoulders and shaking her as gently but firmly as they could. Her gaze was filled with a flame painted chest, although she wasn't sure if she was actually _seeing_ it, though. She did remember that Hot Rod was also injured, and that was enough to draw her mind from the burning in her leg. Attempting to stand so she could help him, ignoring the protests he made. He wouldn't let her go, though, keeping his arms locked around her and supported against his frame. "Don't even try to stand, Springer will be here soon. Don't worry, I got ya."

"Neither of you will have nothin' if your friend doesn't get here _at all_." A grating voice snarled from somewhere above the two. Two pairs of blue optics snapped up in shock; they'd been too caught up in themselves to notice this Decepticon. Crimson optics burned and narrowed as a throaty chuckle slid from his vocal cords. "Looks like you two ain't goin' nowhere. Jus' two more in my way." He held a wicked looking curved blade above his head, his face plates twisting into a sneer of contempt. It took all of a second for the Decepticon to swing the blade down.

Hot Rod hunched his frame over Arcee's, his helm bowing down as his arms tightened around her. Her face was pressed into his chest, her own arms had wrapped around his back as much as they could; one around his waist and the other cradling his neck. Both had shut their optics tight on instinct, tensed as they waited for that slicing blow to slide into their bodies. If he was going to go down, he would go down protecting someone close to him.

However, that blow never came.

They felt a wave of air rush over their frames. The sound of a resounding _clash_ echoing over the barren war torn field. A low grunt followed that clang, along with an exclamation of surprise. Warily, Hot Rod lifted himself up enough to take a look and was nearly blown back by what he saw. His intakes gasped sharply, prompting Arcee to turn her head from his chest and also look up. Her optics were wide and bright at the sight. Delicate servos flying up to cover her mouth.

_"Springer!"_

The large green form of Springer was crouched in front of them, nearly over their bodies. One arm held back a fist by his side, the other raised over him. A curved blade embedded itself deeply into the arm he held up. A slow, but steadily growing stream of blue energon was already streaking down his dirty armor. Hot Rod was suddenly thankful he wasn't on the other side of that blazing blue gaze. His arms unconsciously held Arcee's smaller frame closer. She didn't seem to notice; wide gaze focused on the large and intimidating mech in front of them. A shudder went through them _both_ at the uncharacteristic growl that flowed from their friend.

"I don't think so." Lips pulled into a sneer, the triple-changer didn't let the Decepticon get out so much as a stutter before he brought his pulled back fist forward, and straight into the others abdominal plating. Before the Con could careen backwards very far, Springer grabbed the mech's face in one large hand, ignoring the blade still dug into his arm. His digit tips shoved into the sensitive face plates, pushing his strength into swinging his opponent around by the helm. Using his impressive bulk, he all but threw the Decepticon into the wall that stood behind them. Darkly satisfied at the way the metal warped and twisted on impact until the other mech himself was apart of the structure.

_Now_ he noticed the great stinging in his arm. Reaching down, he plucked the blade out and flicked it aside. Energon flowing quicker now that the wound was open. Springer's armor was still bristled on his frame; evidence of his rage and sudden instinct to defend his friends. His optics still burned, brightened blue nearly white in his fighting state. "We gotta go, now. Ratchet and 'Aid are already waiting."

Snapped out his shocked stupor at the sound of Springer's drawling voice, Hot Rod managed a quick nod. Before he could even say anything, Springer was slowly lowering himself down onto his knee. One look passed between them before the flame painted mech nodded once more; this one slower and understanding. The green mech opened his arms while Hot Rod gently shifted his hold on Arcee. "We're going now, 'Cee. I still got ya." His tone was low, soothing. His back still burned and stabbed, but he could turn his mind from the pain to numb it somewhat. He knew Arcee couldn't just turn her sensors off, the bullet had severed her control there completely. It was more delicate work than he could do.

Adrenaline was quickly wearing off between the three, Arcee's optics now a dim and tired blue. Even her words seemed slower and quieter, "But your back...and Springer's arm..." She still tried to stand, not getting farther than sitting up before hands gently pushed down on her shoulders. Hot Rod looked at his femme companion, blue optics softening. Even amidst the pain and urgency he felt, he still found a moment to take in that endearing pout on her face. Her concern for them had always warmed him. "I _still_ got this." A wink from him brought another smile to her lips.

Shifting his hold on her ever so gently, he lowered her into Springer's open arms. Careful not to jostle her, even as she tried to position herself so he wouldn't have to strain his back, or Springer's arm. Springer unconcernedly scooped her up with his injured arm, holding her to his chest and supporting her with his arm underneath her bottom. She braced her servos to his broad chest, quickly looking back at Hot Rod with worry. He flashed her a bright smile before a rather bemused look overtook his handsome face.

"...What?" He said in response to Springer's expectant expression and raised optic ridge, leading the larger mech to vent in exasperation as he repeated himself.

"I _said_, get on my back. You won't run very far with that injured spine. We don't have anymore time to waste here; now get _on_."

"But...I _got_ this..." He trailed off, his protest weak even to him. At the glare turned his way from his larger friend, he groaned in annoyance and threw his arms up. Wincing as the wound on his back was pulled. He slumped in defeat, pouting the whole way around until he was behind the green behemoth. Grumbling, "Fine. But just this once!" Placing his servos as far up as he could on Springer's back, a surprised yelp escaping him when a large hand reached behind and gently pushed him up. Hot Rod hooked his legs around the other mech's hips, arms looping around his broad shoulders and all but sitting atop the world. He blindly reached down, patting around for a moment before he found Arcee's hand, grabbing it and holding on. He couldn't see much of her from this angle, but he was comforted when she squeezed his fingers.

After making sure those two were secure, he gingerly lifted himself up from his crouch. One arm wrapped underneath Arcee, the other held behind him to keep Hot Rod in place. He knew his friend was holding onto him, but he wasn't about to take a chance unless he had too. "Since I've got my hands full, you guys gotta help me. Arcee, keep lookout behind me. Roddy, you take the front since you're up there to begin with." A thumbs up from Hot Rod and a nod from Arcee, and the triple-changer cautiously made his way through the open field. As far as he was concerned, he held precious cargo and wouldn't stop until they were dropped safely off.

After what seemed like an eternity and a few stragglers later, the trio found their ship right where they left it. It was all Springer could do not to sprint up the lowered ramp, knowing that doing so would jostle each of their wounds. He vented in relief at the welcomed sight of Ratchet, already there and ready to escort his wounded to his med-bay. First Aid seemed shocked at first before he rushed over to the three, gushing his concern and worry for his comrades. Ratchet held back slightly.

Springer dropped to his knees, exhaustion nearly overwhelming him as he gently set Arcee into First Aid's arms. "Take her now, she's worse off." They paused momentarily as she reached out to hold onto his servo, suddenly aware that they had come inside. With a small smile, he tenderly brushed his fingertips along her cheek plate. "Go on, we'll be right behind you." His servo almost reluctantly slid from her face as First Aid cradled her close and set off for repairs. He straightened up enough to lightly shrug Hot Rod from his shoulders, Ratchet having already slid his arms underneath the flame painted mech's back. He nearly smirked at Hot Rod's protests of "Hey hey hey, I can do this myself. I _got_ it." And Ratchet's accompanying glare and challenging optics.

Venting heavily as he lumbered into the medical bay, automatically glancing around to make sure his friends were near by. Arcee was laid out on a berth against the wall, her optics dimmed and her pained expression relaxed some. He could already see the weld lines on her thigh, and the torn wires being replaced in her ankle. A bit over was Hot Rod, slouched on the edge of a berth while Ratchet fussed at him to sit straight so he could work on his back. He dropped to a random seat, leaning back and stretching out with a long drawn out exhale. He was just so damn tired.

Some time later, Arcee's optics came online. She was so _sore_. Her entire leg was throbbing, but at least it wasn't burning at the moment. Taking a glance around the dimly lit room, her gaze was drawn by the soft spoken voices of Hot Rod and Springer. She could see their unmistakeable outlines in the dark, the blue glow from their optics visible from here. She moved to sit up, but stopped at the pressure against her ankle. A soft groan fell from her lips, which in turn, brought her friend's attention to her in an instant. The femme was dryly impressed at how fast Hot Rod scrambled off his seat to stumble to her side, Springer heaving himself up with a tired grunt. "How ya feelin', chickadee?"

"I'm better than I would've thought, actually. What about your arm? What about your back?" Before she could work herself up and worry over them, Springer walked to the front of the berth and hefted himself up onto the edge, his back leaning against the wall. At the same time, Hot Rod had gently slid his arms underneath Arcee and moved her over enough for him to climb up next to her. Springer brought his legs up to stretch out before him, bringing his arm around the front of Hot Rod's shoulders to lightly pull him down and into his lap. Hot Rod complied without protest, his helm laying back onto Springer's thigh. He curled his own arm around Arcee's waist, drawing her close and tucking her into his side. Without a word, she rested her cheek against his flame painted chest. Utterly content at the steady thrumming of his spark so close to her. Raising her arm enough to hold her servo out, she entwined her fingers with the green hand that had automatically reached for her own. Bringing their intertwined digits closer to her, holding them between her chest plates and Hot Rod's side. Springer's other hand wrapped around Hot Rod's shoulder.

No words needed to be spoken between the three. They already knew what each other felt; words couldn't convene their feelings for one another anyways.

That was how the trio was found in the morning, Ratchet taking one look and shaking his helm. Of icourse/i they didn't stay in their own berths. But he really hadn't expected them too. "Shouldn't you wake them and separate them? They're injured, they might get hurt crammed together like that..." Jolt's tone was rather dubious; he didn't know as much about those three as he did. Or as much as most of their crew did.

"No, don't. This isn't the first time this has happened, and it won't be the last." Grumbling, he took note of Jolt's rather skeptical expression.

"They would never hurt each other. Intentionally or not. They are highly turned to each others feelings and emotions. To keep them apart would only make things worse. Just leave them be. Those three are where they're meant to be. With each other."


End file.
